


Run to me

by acheforhim



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Friends With Benefits, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Unrequited Love, geraskier reverse bang, not quite happy ending, post episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29492463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acheforhim/pseuds/acheforhim
Summary: Jaskier starts coughing up flowers. Geralt isn’t there to help him figure out why that’s happening, so he ends up seeking help from healers he meets along the way, and finally – from Yennefer.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 101
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	Run to me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Geraskier reverse bang](geraskierreversebang.tumblr.com) for [xdhx](https://xdhx.tumblr.com/post/643300134444318720/one-of-my-contributions-for-the)'s art prompt! ❤
> 
> Thank you to fangrrlsing for the beta!!
> 
> Warnings: Not quite happy ending, depiction of illness
> 
> "I need you to run to me, run to me, lover  
> Run until you feel your lungs bleeding"  
> —hozier

Although he doesn’t remember exactly when it occurred, Jaskier has come to think of this incident as The First Time This Shit Happened:

They were crossing a small wooded land in Temeria, Geralt and Roach and he, when Jaskier went from speaking fine one moment to choking on something the next. He ended up bent over and retching; coughing out whatever was stuck in his throat was taking enough time and effort that, from the corner of his teary eye, Jaskier could see Geralt lean to the side, though he didn’t get as far as dismounting before Jaskier managed to cough the thing out and feel it land in his hand.

He stared at it with disgust, thinking it was an insect wing for a moment, but before he could get grossed out about the fact that the rest of the insect might have gone down his throat, he realized that it was a flower petal. He turned it over carefully and looked around and up to find the perpetrator. There were quite a lot of trees in bloom around, which was normal enough to see in spring, but none seemed to bear yellow blossoms such as the kind that had just attempted to assassinate him. Not to mention that he didn’t even see it float down towards him, and it was very unlikely that it had come at him from below, with the air still as it had been. How did he not see it coming? It would be a shame if he was losing his eyesight, he thought, though he didn’t doubt he’d look fetching with a pair of spectacles on.

“What is it?” Geralt asked gruffly.

“Nature coming for me,” Jaskier said, then cleared his throat again when he heard how rough his voice was. His throat was quite raw, and he hoped it would heal soon enough not to impact any performance he might have to give if they ended up in a tavern that night. He lifted his hand to show the petal to Geralt. “Didn’t see it coming,” he said before flicking it off.

Geralt huffed. “Ought to teach you to shut your mouth once in a while.”

“You wish,” Jaskier said. His hand went to his throat a moment after, though, when he felt a pulse of pain sharper than before. It started at his throat and made its ominous way down to his chest, making him wonder if it was really the result of a simple cough.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, not bothering to mask his concern this time.

Jaskier waited a moment, but he didn’t feel the stronger pain again, just the rawness of his throat, so he nodded. And they went on their way.

That was the first time. He didn’t even think it would happen again.

In hindsight, he should have questioned the origin of the blossom more.

It had happened again over the years, seemingly at the worst times, when Geralt and he had had a fight and Jaskier ended up sad and alone for a while before their inevitable reunion. It wasn’t enough to make him seriously worried, and the fact that no one else had witnessed it since that first time made it a lot easier to ignore and convince himself that it was just something he was imagining. Coughing up flower petals wasn’t something that just happened to people.

Even in fairy tales such things happened for a reason - if a fair maiden suddenly found flowers and gems falling from her lips as she spoke, that was usually a reward for something good she’d done earlier in the story. Jaskier is no maiden, but he’s sure he’d remember it if he met an old witch and did something that would have her bless him with the gift of growing flowers. And the fairy tale maidens never had to cough them out petal by petal anyway. What’s happening to him is closer to a curse, but he doesn’t recall making anyone particularly angry, either.

So. He didn’t let it bother him. He tried, at least. It was hard not to worry about having a coughing fit in the middle of a song, but it hadn’t happened so far, so he decided to count himself lucky and not think too much about it.

When he and Geralt would find each other and catch up, it would always happen in the windows of time where his strange ailment seemed to let him rest for a while, so he simply didn’t mention it.

And then. Geralt had all but told him to fuck off, his tone giving Jaskier the strong impression that he’d meant forever this time.

The ache in his chest that pierced him at seeing the enraged look on Geralt’s face persisted for days after as he went on his way. He didn’t think too much of it at first, knowing he was just prone to taking everything too hard, but then the days grew into weeks, the weeks into months. And the pain started climbing up.

So he was not all that surprised, really, when about two months after he last saw Geralt, he had another petal-coughing fit. He was surprised to find that the quantity of the petals had increased, as well as that they seemed to make their way out of him slightly easier than before. It was somewhat of a relief for the process to not be as painful as before, but it was still disconcerting, the thought that his body might be getting used to doing this.

The long nights spent aching and worried alone brought up even more disconcerting thoughts, though. Such as the fact that he missed Geralt terribly.

This wasn’t all that surprising - of course Jaskier missed his friend when he was alone and miserable. What bothered him was the realization that he didn’t just miss Geralt’s company and his conversation—or his lack thereof. Jaskier wanted… more. He was missing something he never even had with the witcher, something he hadn’t realized he’d wanted all along.

It was unfortunate, the fact that it was the hurt from being cast aside that made him realize he'd fallen for Geralt instead of the simple joy of being near the witcher. It was probably for the best, though - Jaskier had never been good at hiding his emotions, and being obvious about being into Geralt probably would have made him push Jaskier away even sooner than he had.

Jaskier could digest the realization while he was away and make his peace with it before they saw each other again, if they ever did.

Peace, however, was not what fate had in store for him.

If his mental anguish over feelings unexplored wasn’t enough, his… condition seemed to only get worse as the months went on. Although Jaskier didn’t completely understand it yet, he’d come to realize that strong emotions - namely, negative ones - seemed to aggravate it and make his fits last longer. He was coughing up whole flowers sometimes, stem and all, and an uncomfortable feeling settled in his throat. It almost felt like the flowers were already there, fully grown, waiting for him to expel them. It was… unsettling, to say the least. While he was still able to sing, the pressure in his throat and lungs was worrisome enough that he decided to seek help from the healers at the town he was staying at.

He was greeted with the skepticism he was expecting, the woman berating him for wasting her time. Prepared for this, he just closed his eyes, and very pointedly started thinking about a certain witcher whom he’d tried to avoid thinking about for the past six months.

“What are you doing?” the woman demanded, but Jaskier just raised a hand to ask her to wait. The pain was already rising from his chest, crawling up and making his throat spasm. He heaved and retched, the small yellow flower coming out in his hands covered in spittle and blood.

He showed it to the woman, but she seemed even less sympathetic now.

“Do you think I have time for your tricks?” she said, eyes thunderous. “Go before you find yourself thrown in the dungeons for keeping me from my patients.”

“But I—”

“Go!”

So he’d gone. He kept traveling, singing on his good days and resting on the bad ones. Wherever there were healers, he asked for their help, though he didn’t get a much better response than the first time. The best he got was curiosity about his condition, but no one had heard of an illness such as his. Which meant it was indeed most likely a curse, though he still had no idea who could have put it upon him. This, in turn, meant he needed someone well versed in magic to help him out of this.

He couldn’t not think of Geralt. If there was anyone who’d heard of such a curse, it’d be him. More than that, he’d know fact from myth and be able to actually help him instead of accidentally making things worse.

But Jaskier couldn’t seek him out. He couldn’t go back to him after the way they’d parted and make Geralt have to rescue him yet again.

But if he didn’t find a cure… if he didn’t live to see Geralt again… his last conversation with the man he loved would have been a bitter argument. A rejection. Could he really rest in peace if he left things between them like that?

But no, Jaskier couldn’t think like this. He had to see Geralt and fix things between them again. It was just how things between the two of them went.

To do this, he had to find a cure. To survive this.

No matter the cost.

So that is how, a year after he last saw Geralt, mere hours after coughing up a whole bunch of multi-coloured flower petals, Jaskier finds himself inside the home of the last person he wants to see.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yennefer says, looking up at him from her seat.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t have come to you if I weren’t desperate.”

“Aren’t you always?”

“What, desperate? In a sense,” he says with a small smile. “But this is serious. If you helped me, you’d quite literally be saving my life.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s sort of in your job description?”

“A job I don’t do for free.”

“I didn’t ask you to do it for free. If you do this, you’ll be entitled to half my earnings for the rest of my life.” At her raised eyebrow, he continues, “I did say it was life or death.”

“You do look terrible. Worse than usual, at least.” Yennefer kicks at the leg of the chair next to hers, pushing it back, and he takes the offered seat, movements overly cautious. Despite his need, it is still not terribly comfortable, sitting so close to her. “What’s wrong with you?”

He gets his handkerchief out and unfolds it to show her the yellow wilting flower resting inside, surrounded by an array of different petals.

“I coughed this out this morning.”

“You what?”

“Coughed this out. Threw it up. Expelled it from my lungs. It wasn’t the first time.” He clears his throat. “You might be getting a demonstration soon. I can feel them making their way out.”

Yennefer blinks at the flower, glances between it and Jaskier as if she’s trying to decide if he’s having her on.

“You’re coughing up flowers,” she says calmly.

“Yes. Have been for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“About a year,” he says, and tries not to be too worried at the way she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Maybe more. I don’t remember when the first time was. It was just petals at first.”

“And you didn’t think to seek help earlier?”

“I’ve been seeking help for half a year,” he says. “No one knows shit about this. And don’t tell me I could have come to you,” he says, and she inclines her head in agreement that she probably wouldn’t have welcomed him with open arms. Not that she’s too friendly now, but she hasn’t kicked him out or burnt him to ashes yet, so it’s something.

“Maybe not to me,” she says, “but other sorcerers.”

“You’re not the most available sort of folks,” he says, and she nods again. “How bad is it?”

She taps her fingers on the tabletop as she considers him. “You said it started with petals,” she says carefully. “And in about a year they’ve grown into full flowers. How long do you think until that grows into bunches and you suffocate while you’re trying to get them out?”

He swallows. “Not very long, I imagine?”

She nods.

“So you know about this? You’ve heard about it happening?”

“I’ve read about it. Never heard of it happening in real life.”

“But it has been recorded?”

“Mostly in storybooks. Not so much in medicinal guides.”

“What do the stories say?”

She keeps pausing before she is about to say something difficult, and he appreciates the consideration. He never expected her to feel for him, but her eyes have softened a bit, and Jaskier doesn’t know if that should calm or scare him.

“They say that this is what happens when you’re in love with someone and that person doesn’t reciprocate.”

It’s not the answer he expected, but he can feel the truth of it, the statement sinking like a knife into his chest and bending him in half so he can cough up the flower that has been stuck in his throat since he knocked on Yennefer’s door.

He sits upright again and puts the flower next to the other, wiping his bloody hand on the corner of the handkerchief. Yennefer hands him another, and with a muttered thanks he cleans his eyes and mouth.

“They’re buttercups,” she notes, looking at the flowers.

“Yeah,” he says, clears his throat. “Maybe it’s supposed to be ironic.”

“The thing that is killing you has been you all along?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. It’s not like I asked for this to happen. Or to fall in love.”

“So you are in love? With whom?”

“You know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. You see why I didn’t want to come to you.”

“I assumed it had more to do with the way we met.”

“That, too,” he says. “But water under the bridge, you know? You didn’t actually kill me back then. This might. I was more worried about your reaction to finding out I have feelings for your man.”

Yennefer laughs. “He’s not my man,” she says. “What Geralt and I have is not real. It’s magic.”

“So is this,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “That doesn’t make it any less real.”

Yennefer looks uncertain.

“Look. Whatever there is between you, that’s not the reason Geralt doesn’t love me. Even if he’d never met you, he wouldn’t be with me. It is what it is,” he says with a little shrug. “I know this is supremely weird, and if you decide you don’t want to help me, I’d understand. I just had to ask. If anyone could do this, it would be you. You’re the most powerful person I’ve had the misfortune of knowing,” he ends his plea, and it earns him a small smile.

“You certainly know how to flatter a woman.”

“You have your talents. I have mine.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes, but then her expression becomes serious again. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

“Neither would be suffocating to death. I presume.” She nods. “What do we have to do?”

“You won’t have to do much. I’ll just have to… get it out of you.”

“It’s that simple?”

“Simple, yes. But not easy,” she emphasizes again. “It will have consequences.”

“I’m listening.”

“There is a good chance you’ll be left with some damage to your lungs. So your singing may not be quite what it used to be.”

Despite himself, tears fill his eyes almost immediately. He blinks and looks away, ashamed to have her see him like this. She mercifully doesn’t linger on the subject.

“If the stories are true… in the end you won’t love him anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Getting the seeds out will also take away your feelings for him.”

“All feelings? I just… won’t care about him anymore?”

“I’m unsure of how it works, exactly. You shouldn’t be in love with him anymore. I don’t know the rest.”

“Will I be able to fall in love with other people?”

“You should be. It should only affect the feelings you have for him.”

It’ll take him a while to adjust to that thought. The idea of feelings just… disappearing is not something he’s entirely comfortable with. But he’s been living in near constant discomfort and fear for about a year now, so in comparison this seems like a small sacrifice.

“It makes sense, I suppose. If my love for him is the cause for this, it should be uprooted with the illness.”

“Right,” she says. “So you want to do this?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“It could also go away if he confessed his feelings.”

He can’t stop the bitter laugh that escapes him. “Because that’s definitely going to happen.”

“You don’t know how he feels.”

“I’m pretty sure I do. Last time he spoke to me… well, he made it clear he wanted it to be the last.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re both so dramatic. He probably regretted whatever he said as soon as he said it. He was just too proud to apologize.”

“Well. I think if he had feelings for me, he’d have swallowed some of that pride and talked to me. He didn’t. And this is magic, right? It would probably know if he loved me.”

“The magic lives in you. It knows what you know. Or what you think you know.”

“Maybe so, but… Yennefer. Do you honestly think he could be in love with me? Magic or not, he’s pretty gone on you. He lashed out at me because he was hurt over losing _you_. He didn’t regret sending me away that day. He regretted seeing you go.” He has to pause to cough out another flower that’s been crawling up ever since the last one made its way out. He’s surprised to see this one is white. “Huh. That’s new.”

He can’t help but make the comparison between the colour of the petals and that of the hair of a certain witcher. “I think talking about him makes it worse. Or like… thinking of me loving him. And him not loving me.” He feels the pain swell in his chest again and he covers his mouth, trying to keep it down. “Yep. Definitely worse. Shutting up now.” It reminds him of the first time he coughed up a petal, and how Geralt told him it’s a sign he should keep his mouth shut, and just the memory of Geralt being so dismissive pushes the white flower out of him with a violent coughing fit. Yennefer gets up, and comes back with a cup of water for him.

“Thank you,” he says and drinks it all. “Fuck,” he grinds out once the blood has mostly been washed from his mouth. “How do I stop thinking of him?”

“Beats me,” Yennefer says, and there is genuine sympathy in her eyes now.

 _He made a mess of both of us_ , Jaskier wants to say, but he knows it’s not quite true. Yennefer has held up a lot better than him. Geralt has probably been the one who’s suffered more between the two of them.

“Not that I’m planning on doing something. But I’m just curious. Do the flowers go away if the person you love dies?”

He doesn’t expect the laughter that escapes her, and neither did she, if the way her hand flies to her mouth to stop the sound is anything to go by.

“I have no idea,” she says honestly. “I doubt anyone who is so in love could kill their person.”

“Like I said, not planning on it. But accidents do happen. Especially to people who tend to jump into the mouths of monsters for a living.”

“That’s true,” she says. “You could wait and see if it passes with time.”

“I think we established that I probably don’t have a lot left. I was just wondering what happens if the person you’re hurting over isn’t there anymore. But I think trying to get it out is our safest bet, in my case”

“Very well.” She looks at him for a long moment and sighs. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

He does his best to hide the hesitant affection that warms him at her words. “Don’t get soft on me, witch.”

She rolls her eyes yet again, and he finds he’s become quite fond of the gesture in the course of their conversation. “It’ll take some time to research this properly. And more to get someone to help me with the ritual.”

“I can wait.” _I hope._

“Find yourself a place to stay, then. You’re not sleeping under my roof.”

“And she’s back,” he says with a grin. The kindness she’s shown him has been disarming, and it’s nice to go back to animosity, even if it’s more for show than anything. “Whatever tavern is nearest, I’ll be there.”

“Will you be annoying the locals with your performances?”

“Less so than usual, I’m afraid. Hard to put on a show when I’m terrified I’ll start throwing up flowers any second.”

“Just don’t sing about love and you should be fine. Or about Geralt.”

“Good thing my most popular songs aren’t about those two things in particular,” he says, deadpan.

“You’ll make it work.”

“I will.” He gets up. “Thank you, Yennefer.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Thank me if you survive the ritual.”

“Will do. If I don’t - survive it, that is - there is a silver lining. You won’t have to buy flowers for my funeral.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You bring it out of me.”

“Flatterer.”

“I do my best,” he says, bowing at her before he leaves.

*

In the end, it only takes Yennefer a couple of weeks to prepare for the ritual.

Jaskier spends them mostly relaxing during the days and singing in the evenings. The performances are much less livelier than he usually has to offer, but the people seem to appreciate it, having someone sing softly in the corner as they have their meals. He gets some coin for it, and he’s grateful, but he misses being the center of attention dearly and can’t wait for Yennefer to do whatever she needs to do in order to rid him of this illness.

He only dares check in with her twice. Although he tells her he’s there to inquire about her progress, he also just wanted to see her. A half-friendly face in a strange town has come to mean a lot more to him than it did before. It’s nice to hear her voice, see her work. Even if she hadn’t kicked him out shortly after, he couldn’t have brought himself to spend too much time in her company, though. It literally hurts too much to be around her.

Maybe once the memory of her on top of Geralt stops making him cough his lungs out, they can be friends. If he survives whatever she’s going to do to him.

Speaking of which…

“This is Triss Merigold,” Yennefer says, busying herself with a cauldron as he sits down on the cot she’s pointed out to him. Triss is in a chair next to the cot, dark green gown reaching the floor. “She’ll be helping me heal you.”

“I’m Jaskier,” he says, and she smiles. She’s gorgeous, and Jaskier might already have a line or two about a pair of dark-haired mages making up a melody in his head.

“I know,” she says.

“Thank you for coming. You’ve probably heard that I’m quite desperate, so I appreciate anyone who would try to help.”

“I’ll be happy to try,” she says, careful not to promise anything, and he nods in understanding.

“We should act quickly,” Yennefer says. “He already looks worse than when he came into town.”

“I do?” Jaskier asks, feeling the remaining colour drain from his face.

“You do,” she says and comes over, handing him a cup. It’s still warm, and bringing it to his nose has him instantly recoiling from the foul smell.

“The fuck is this?”

“To help you sleep through it,” Yennefer explains, and it takes him a moment to realize what she means.

“Wait— _now?_ ”

“Would you like to wait some more? See if you get even worse?”

“No, of course not, I just didn’t realize… Shit.”

“You thought I just asked you here for tea?” Yennefer asks with a little smirk.

“Stranger things have happened,” he murmurs, looking down into the cup. There are still a few leaves swirling around the liquid, and he swirls it warily, wonders if he’ll ever trust plants again. “Will this act instantly?”

“More or less.”

“So this is it,” he says, stalling, his heart beating madly in his chest. “What are you going to do?” he asks, looking from her to Triss. “In the most basic terms.”

“We’ll look for the… root of your ailment and neutralize it,” Triss explains, and it’s hard not to roll his eyes at the pun. “Then we’ll encourage your body to expel the remains and heal.”

“So I’ll be throwing up a lot?”

“Just until you let it all out. Then it should be done.”

“Are you sure it will work?”

Triss looks to Yennefer.

“No,” Yennefer admits. “But it’s the best we have.”

Jaskier nods. He raises his cup, silently toasting to the two of them, and then pours the tea down his throat, wincing at the bitterness as he swallows.

“Ugh,” he groans. “What the hell is in that?”

“Something to help you sleep through the pain.”

“The pain,” he murmurs. Right.

He suddenly realizes he’s still carrying his lute, but when he tries to take it off, his hands are heavy and sluggish. His obvious struggle prompts both women to move, Triss removing the lute for him.

“Careful with that,” he tries to say, but he’s not sure he doesn’t slur all his words together.

“Relax,” Yennefer says, and his eyes move to her. She’s leaning over him, hand pressed to his shoulder, her hair falling to the sides of her face and swinging towards him. There’s a crinkle between her brows.

“Don’t look so apologetic. You haven’t killed me yet,” he says, and she quietly scolds him with a squeeze to his shoulder, even though the corner of her lips curls up.

“Go to sleep, bard,” she says.

And he does.

*

He does… expel. A lot.

He doesn’t know exactly how many times he awakes to do just that, because he can’t really stay awake for long after, nor do anything while he’s conscious but lean over the side of the bed and throw up. He feels hands on him, hears voices, but none of it really comes through. The only thought he has time for before unconsciousness takes him again is the realization that he’s still alive, and that’s a small relief, even though his mouth tastes bile and his chest feels like it’s on fire.

At one point he wakes up without the need to throw up. It does feel like someone is hammering many a nail to his lungs, though, so the only thing he can do is groan.

There’s no light in the room, so he assumes Yennefer is asleep, and Triss too, if she’s still here. He tries to keep his moaning to a minimum as he forces himself back into sleep until a more convenient time, and it actually works. No one comes to check on him before he falls asleep.

When Jaskier opens his eyes again, Geralt is sitting by his bed. Which is. Uh.

“Geralt?”

“Jaskier.”

He closes his eyes again. “Am I dead?”

There’s a soft chuckle. “Not yet.”

“Huh.” He does a quick check in with his body. Everything hurts, but he can breathe. Gods, he can breathe. He hadn’t even realized how hard that had become before the ritual. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you for months. I heard you were ill. Not from you, mind you.”

“Why would you hear it from me?”

“I don’t know. Because you could have asked me for help?”

“Geralt…” Jaskier is way too tired for this. “I quite literally didn’t know you cared.”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I care.”

“I’m not stupid,” Jaskier hisses, then tries to calm down when he realizes elevating his heartbeat only makes the pain pulse worse. “I didn’t know if you’d actually want to help, or if you’d just yell at me again. Like you’re about to do right now,” he says, making Geralt shut his mouth. “You’ve looked for me for months, and for what? Just so you could be nasty to me again?”

“I’m not trying to be nasty.”

“You don’t have to try. It comes naturally to you.” He takes a deep breath. “I already gathered what you think of me from our last conversation. I don’t know why you came here just to be a dick. You can just leave me alone if you’re done with me. Don’t act like you care if you’re just gonna throw it in my face instead of actually helping me.”

There is a long pause before Geralt speaks again, voice softer than Jaskier expects. “I’m not… done with you. Whatever that means. And I do want to help you. I didn’t know how much I’d hurt you last time we spoke.”

Jaskier laughs, unamused. “You’re either lying or the worst friend I’ve ever had. You’ve known me for a decade but didn’t know how much your words would affect me? Fucking hell. You treat all your friends like that?”

There’s another pause. “You seem… different,” Geralt says in the end instead of addressing anything Jaskier hurled at him.

 _Your feelings are just not my priority anymore_ , Jaskier thinks. Not that he ever lied to Geralt or anything, but he certainly hadn’t had the heart to go off on him like this before. “I’m in a lot of pain, and you’re getting on my last nerve,” he says out loud. “I don’t have it in me to mince my words.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Geralt says. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier nods. “I take it Yennefer didn’t tell you what the cause of my ailment was?”

“She just said it could be a curse. She didn’t tell me who might have put it on you.”

“We’re not sure. But it seems to be fine now.”

Geralt nods. “What can I do to help?” he asks. “To make it up to you?”

“Get out of here and let me rest,” Jaskier says, closing his eyes.

He hears Geralt get up, but he’s out before he hears the door open for him to leave.

*

The next time he wakes up, he’s a lot less crankier.

He sits up in his cot just as the door opens, and he’s surprised to see Geralt again. Geralt rushes towards him and helps him up, leaving his hands on his shoulders as if Jaskier will topple over if he’s not supporting him. Jaskier swings his legs over the edge of the bed, Geralt standing before him, and they spend a long moment just looking at each other. Jaskier vaguely remembers telling him off some time before - was it earlier today or has more time passed since then? - but Geralt doesn’t seem mad at him. The corner of his lips curls up as they just keep staring at each other, and Jaskier feels himself smile in return. He leans in, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist, and Geralt’s come around his shoulders to hold him properly.

The ache that Jaskier keeps anticipating never comes. He still feels affection for Geralt, and he definitely can still feel anger for him, so it’s a relief to know he’s not completely bereft of emotion when it comes to his friend.

They can still be friends.

“I really scared you, huh?” Jaskier murmurs.

“Hm?”

“You only get this handsy when you’re worried.”

“Ah,” Geralt says, hand rubbing over Jaskier’s back. “Might have to fix that.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Jaskier says. He can’t admit how much he’s missed simply being touched in the past year, his condition too messy for him to take company too often. It hits him suddenly that he can have his life back now, that he can stop being afraid, and tears fill his eyes, overflowing quickly.

Geralt stays with him until they stop coming.

*

“Can I thank you now?” Jaskier asks that evening.

Triss has left already, busy elsewhere, so he probably won’t be able to thank her properly for a while. Yennefer and Geralt are with him though, sitting close to his bed. Jaskier has a bowl of soup in his hands – pretty much the only thing he can keep down, and Geralt and Yennefer have heartier meals on plates on their laps. Though Jaskier has never imagined the three of them like this before, it’s comforting to have them here, their voices hushed and features softened by the candlelight.

“I’ll allow it,” Yennefer says magnanimously.

“Thank you,” he says, most sincerely. “You’ve relieved me of all the gold I have for the moment, but I promise you you’ll get royalties from all the performances of the songs I’ll write for you for life.”

“You’ll be writing songs for me?”

“Of course,” he says. “As soon as I figure out what rhymes with Vengerberg.”

Yennefer snorts, but recovers quickly. “Now, from what I recall, you promised me half your earnings for life. Not royalties from a song that hasn’t even been written yet.”

“Song _s_. Plural.”

“Unwritten. Irrelevant.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to reply, but then he catches the mildly unsettled look Geralt is giving him. “What?” he asks.

“You two get along now,” Geralt says mildly.

Jaskier’s gaze returns to Yennefer, and her lips twitch, fighting against a smile. Geralt looks horrified, and probably with good reason. Still, Jaskier finds it in him to reassure him.

“What can I say? I’ve always wanted a frenemy.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes right on cue. “Isn’t one enough?” jerking her head towards Geralt.

“Geralt’s not my enemy,” he says with a frown. “He hasn’t hurt me.” Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “Well, not physically. And not on purpose.” The doubt on her face intensifies, and Jaskier suddenly recalls getting punched in the gut. “Okay, yeah. You’re a bit of a dick,” he tells Geralt, and Geralt hums, not disagreeing, though he does look a bit guilty.

He’s been looking guilty all day, walking on eggshells around him, and it’s unnerving. Jaskier wants Geralt to go back to himself already, irritable and dismissive and reliable.

“So it’s gone, then?” Yennefer asks quietly before he can figure out something to say in order to tease Geralt.

They share a look, and he doesn’t have to ask what she means. “Yes.”

“All of it?” she asks, briefly glancing at Geralt.

“Not… all. There is some left. But the main perpetrator is gone,” he says, hoping she understands. He does his best to ignore the confused look Geralt is giving them, trying to understand what they’re talking about.

“Do you regret going through the ritual?”

“Why would he regret it? The illness nearly killed him,” Geralt says, but Jaskier doesn’t answer him. He looks at Yennefer.

“I don’t. This is better for everyone,” he says, and he is tempted to waggle his eyebrows to show her that Geralt is all hers now. Not that he wasn’t before, but still. Jaskier is even less of a threat now.

“Good,” she says. “You can leave sooner rather than later, then.”

He brings a hand to his chest. “You wound me!”

“I un-wounded you, if anything,” she points out. “Spent quite a lot of time doing it. I have other customers, you know.”

“I know,” he says softly. “Thank you. _Yen of Ven_ will be a hit, I promise you.”

The look of disgust on her face is definitely worth every coin he has promised her.

“We can move to the tavern so that you have your space back,” Geralt says.

“We?” Jaskier asks.

“Yes. I’ll stay with you until you’re better. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Jaskier says softly. “And what happens when I do get better?”

“We’ll go somewhere else. Find you inspiration for new songs. Other than _Yen of Ven_ ,” he says with a wry little smile.

“Sounds like a plan.”

It’ll get some getting used to, being around Geralt again but feeling so differently for him, but Jaskier is sure they’ll settle back in their routine soon and it’ll be like they’ve never been apart.

Geralt certainly makes it easy – although his attentiveness is highly unusual, it’s also _really fucking nice_. He walks close to Jaskier on their way to the tavern, there to support him when his legs threaten to give out, and once they’re settled, he makes sure Jaskier has everything he needs before he even thinks of tending to himself. He’s so gentle that Jaskier almost regrets telling him off, but then when he teases him about the way he smells, Geralt throws an insult back at him as usual, so Jaskier reckons his witcher hasn’t completely lost his teeth.

He does offer to help Jaskier with his bath, though, which he didn’t expect. Having Geralt’s hands on him feels good, but thankfully he doesn’t feel _things_ that would make him embarrass himself in front of the man anymore.

“You’re different,” Jaskier says as Geralt washes his back, and Geralt just hums in question. “What happened to you while we were apart?”

Geralt pulls back so he can frown at him. “Nothing happened to me.”

“Right. Because witchers are known to have full years that are uneventful,” Jaskier deadpans. “You must have done a bunch of jobs. At least enough to make sure you made enough coin to live on.”

“I did some jobs,” Geralt confirms. “Nothing interesting.”

“Why are you like this, then?”

“Like what?”

“Nice.”

Geralt shifts to sit on the floor next to the tub, his brow furrowed as he looks at Jaskier. “Was I really that bad to you?”

“Not _that_ bad,” Jaskier says. “I mean, you were kind. You got me out of danger even when I put myself right in front of it. You always made sure I was alright. But you were never _nice._ And I get it, it’s not like you liked having me around. I haven’t done anything to make myself more tolerable, so I don’t quite understand your change of heart.”

“You nearly died,” Geralt says slowly, “and you don’t understand why I’d be grateful that you didn’t?”

They spend a long moment just looking at each other before Geralt shifts to his knees, picking up the washcloth again.

“I nearly lost you,” he says, voice rough.

“I wasn’t aware I was yours to lose,” Jaskier muses. “Or anyone’s, really.”

“You are,” Geralt says. “You’re my friend. I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty one to you.”

“Eh,” Jaskier says, waving his hand dismissively and splashing water around. “Not like I make it easy.”

“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.”

“Well,” Jaskier begins, but before he can make his sex joke, Geralt has pushed his head forward so he can rub at his neck, effectively shutting him up.

*

In about a week, Jaskier feels strong enough to journey and perform again. He tests the latter their last night in the tavern, surprising the people who’d become used to his quiet singing by performing some of his livelier pieces, having them all clap to the rhythm and singing along. He gets winded quickly, but he can’t stop smiling, knowing that he can still do this and probably build up his stamina until he’s able to entertain for longer amounts of time again.

“Are you sure you want to go?” Geralt asks him once Jaskier is done and comes to sit next to him at the bar. “We can stay here one more night. It’s safer than in the woods.”

“If you want to, we can stay, but I am dying to get out of here.”

“Don’t joke about dying,” Geralt says and takes a sip of his ale.

“Touchy,” Jaskier says and pokes his shoulder. It probably hurts his finger more than Geralt’s shoulder, but Geralt glares at him nonetheless. Jaskier grins. “Fine. I am _yearning_ to have the earth realign my spine after spending a week on the lumpy mattress here. No offence,” he turns to the bartender, who’s cleaning a cup not far from them and definitely eavesdropping.

The man shrugs. “Not my place. I just work here.”

“Ah. Good. And a fine job you do,” Jaskier says with a smile. He doesn’t expect the man to smile back and very obviously ogle him.

“So do you,” he says, eyes jumping from Jaskier’s lute to his throat to his lips.

Warmth fills Jaskier at the subtle flirtation and the realization that he can do this again, he can spend the night with someone else without being too self conscious about it.

Before he can seriously consider this particular possibility, Geralt’s cup clicks onto the surface of the bar, drawing Jaskier’s attention.

“So we’re leaving, then?” he asks.

He’s annoyed, and doing a bad job of hiding it. Jaskier’s joke about him dying probably struck a nerve, and he’d started flirting instead of properly apologizing for it.

“Right,” he says, and smiles at the bartender apologetically. The man looks from Geralt to him, then shrugs again, probably deciding irritating a witcher further would not be his best course of action. “Let’s go.”

*

Over the next couple of months, Geralt remains gentle, probably due to the fact that Jaskier actually listens to him now and doesn’t try to get himself eaten too often. Geralt is more indulgent with him in return, telling him details about creatures no one else would know to put in a song. Those kinds of details aren’t the most helpful when it comes to his songs about Yennefer and Triss though.

“Are all sorceresses that beautiful?” he asks one night, laying by the fire and staring up at the stars as he tries to weave words together in his mind.

Geralt doesn’t need to ask who he’s talking about. “Most I’ve met have been, yes,” he says. “Some by design.”

“How do they do it?”

“Magic.”

Jaskier turns to glare at him, but Geralt just keeps looking up to the sky. The corner of his lips curls up, though, and Jaskier feels his own features soften.

“She said that there’s magic that connects you,” he says. “Yennefer.” Geralt turns to look at him now, his face unreadable. “But you love her. Right?”

Geralt sighs. “It’s complicated,” he says. “Our fates… they’re intertwined. She doesn’t see that as a good thing.”

“So? Show her you love her. Change her mind.”

Geralt laughs. “You’ve met her, haven’t you? She’s nothing if not stubborn. And it wouldn’t work between us, anyway. She wants a child. I can’t give that to her.”

“You have a child,” Jaskier points out. “Of surprise, but still a child,” he adds, and Geralt grunts. “What, you’re still not claiming it?”

“No.”

“You say your fate is intertwined with Yennefer’s. It’s also connected to this child’s. How can you believe in one bond but not the other?”

“I can’t have a child,” Geralt says. “There are far too few of us left. I have to do my job. No one else will.”

“Having a child doesn’t mean having to retire.”

“I couldn’t keep them safe.”

“You keep me safe well enough.”

Geralt huffs. “Are you calling yourself a child?”

“No. I’m calling you a good protector.”

“Is that what I’m supposed to do, then?” Geralt says with a frown. “Get this child and bring it to Yennefer and live happily ever after? Is that what you want for me?”

“Just wondering what _you_ want, Geralt,” Jaskier says softly.

Geralt looks at him for a long moment before he finally turns his head back towards the sky. “Been wondering that, too.”

Jaskier doesn’t question him further. He hums under his breath, smiling when it seems to lull Geralt to sleep.

*

Apparently… Geralt decides he wants _him_.

It’s an evening like any other, Jaskier warm and happy under the attention of an appreciative audience. Some glances have been even more than appreciative, and Jaskier has noted them all, silently calculating his options for the night.

He seems to have missed something in the equation, because when he goes to see how Geralt is doing, maybe steal a sip of his ale, Geralt doesn’t offer his customary nod of acknowledgment to him. Instead he grabs Jaskier by the thigh and pulls him in, easily pulling him onto his lap and making Jaskier laugh.

“Excuse you,” Jaskier says, but he settles more comfortably astride Geralt. He leans in, placing his hands on Geralt’s chest. “Is something wrong?” he whispers.

“No, why?” Geralt replies in kind.

“Thought you might be doing this to trick someone into thinking you’re not a threat,” Jaskier says with a little shrug. He leans back away to look at Geralt now that he knows there’s not some covert operation going on and he can relax.

“I’m doing it because I want to,” Geralt says, pulling him closer by the waist.

“Uh huh. And you haven’t had too much to drink?”

“Just the one,” Geralt promises. “Don’t have to be drunk to want you.”

Jaskier feels his mouth dry despite himself. He hasn’t really thought of Geralt this way since… well, since thinking of him used to hurt. But now, with those feelings gone, with the danger gone… they can have all the fun they want with no one getting hurt. This is perfect.

“Are you sure about this? It’s not going to make things weird?”

“I hope it won’t,” Geralt says, and Jaskier appreciates the honesty. He leans in to kiss the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

“Can you wait for me to do a few more songs?”

“If I must,” Geralt says with a sigh, but he’s smiling.

Jaskier feels arousal hum through him, anticipation making him jittery. He pecks Geralt again, giggling when Geralt’s hands briefly slide to his ass as Jaskier climbs off of him.

He spends the songs in a daze, feeling himself flush every time he looks to Geralt and sees him already staring at him hungrily. He’s barely gathered all his coin before he feels hands wrap around his waist, and he grins as he leans into Geralt.

“Impatient, are we?”

“Mm.”

Jaskier takes a little bow even as Geralt is dragging him away. He did mean to tease Geralt a little bit by making him wait, but he doesn’t expect the way he presses him against the wall as soon as they’re out of the common area of the tavern. He kisses him, quick and impatient, making heat spread all over Jaskier’s body.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Jaskier pants in-between kisses, hand roaming over Geralt’s body, looking for a spot that’s not covered by armour. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Wanted this for a while,” Geralt says into Jaskier’s neck, and starts guiding him again, leading him towards one of the rooms, kissing him all the while.

As soon as the door slams behind them, they start tearing off their clothes with embarrassing haste. Jaskier doesn’t know if Geralt meant that he’s wanted _him_ for a while, or just sex, but he can relate to either. It’s been a fucking _while_ , and he can’t deny that being close to Geralt has made him want the man, even if only for a night. It feels like they were bound to end up here sooner or later, just to see what it’s like, if nothing else.

“Writing music again?” Geralt murmurs, coming close to him to kiss up his neck again.

“Mm?”

“You seem distracted.”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You. Us.”

Geralt smiles, and Jaskier has to kiss him, run his hands through Geralt’s hair. Geralt reaches up and pulls the tie from it, letting it down, and Jaskier takes the invitation to bury his fingers in his locks and pull him closer. Geralt’s chest rumbles with pleasure with that, and he nibbles on Jaskier’s lip before he kisses him, nice and slow. They’re just in their undershirts now, so when Geralt presses into him, Jaskier can feel his muscles, his warmth. He moans, and when Geralt pulls away, he chases after him, presses a kiss to his cheeks.

“I love the way you feel,” he says quietly, and he’s rewarded with Geralt’s smile again. He looks a mess, hair ruffled and shirt pulled off his shoulder, and he’s never been more gorgeous. “Bed?” he asks, and Geralt’s smile grows wider as his hands slide down Jaskier’s thighs and he lifts him up, as if the bed is too big a distance for him to walk himself. “Where was this energy when I was actually too weak to walk?”

“I would’ve carried you if you were actually too weak,” Geralt says as he drops him onto the bed and follows him down. “Don’t remember it being entirely necessary.”

“Next time I’ll make sure to swoon.”

“Next time?”

“Next time I feel like being carried,” Jaskier clarifies. “Not next time I nearly die and require the services of not one but two powerful mages to be saved.”

“Good to know that’s what you meant,” Geralt says before he kisses him again. He’s clearly not serious, but it worries Jaskier a little, the fact that Geralt still seems to be so affected, even though it’s been months since Jaskier was healed. Even Jaskier got over it quicker than him, happy to just be able to breathe again without being afraid.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, with Geralt gently removing the rest of his clothes, unwrapping him like a gift. He certainly feels precious, with all the soft touches and kisses Geralt lays on his skin.

He’d expected things to be more urgent, but Geralt takes his time with him, making Jaskier melt into the sheets before Geralt is even completely naked. Jaskier is slick with sweat and oil, writhing on Geralt’s fingers, and Geralt still has his damn shirt on, and that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. When Geralt finally moves away to slick up his cock, Jaskier rises to his elbows to watch him, licking his lips at the sight. If they ever do this again, he’s got to get his mouth on him.

He doesn’t have much time for fantasies, Geralt shuffling closer to him, taking his place between Jaskier’s legs. He’s finally close enough for Jaskier to touch him, and he pulls on that shirt immediately, making Geralt chuckle.

“Who’s impatient now?” he murmurs.

“Definitely me,” Jaskier says, sitting up and pulling him closer by the neck. “I want you in me now,” he says, reveling in the way Geralt groans into their kiss.

He doesn’t have to be asked twice, pushing Jaskier back down so he can spread his legs properly and sink into him, fill him up. Jaskier closes his eyes and just lets himself feel it, trying to relax as Geralt builds up a rhythm.

“Harder,” he whispers, then opens his eyes when Geralt’s pace doesn’t change. Geralt is looking at him for confirmation, and Jaskier nods. “Harder. Need it.”

He sees Geralt’s throat bob before he shifts, lifting Jaskier’s legs up and wrapping them around his waist. His hands then slip up to his hips, drawing him closer at the same time as he thrusts and making Jaskier whimper.

“Like that,” he whines, and Geralt does it again, and again, making the whole bed rattle as he fucks Jaskier.

He makes Jaskier moan every time he bottoms out, but then he quickens his thrusts, going faster and faster until Jaskier can just hold onto him with a single drawn out moan. Geralt’s hand goes to his cock and Jaskier wraps his around it, bucking up into it and back down on Geralt’s cock. He can feel the pressure building, and so can Geralt, if the way he speeds his hand up is anything to go by. Jaskier tries to say something, warn him, but all that comes out his mouth is a moan that breaks up into whimpers as Geralt slows down.

“Keep going,” he says, voice high and breathy. “Know you’re close. Wanna feel it,” he says, and Geralt listens, picking upthe pace again until he bottoms out and stills, cock pulsing inside of Jaskier.

He falls forward and Jaskier wraps his arms around him, pulls him close for a kiss as they come down. He winces when Geralt slips out, and Geralt kisses him harder, almost apologetic, laying down next to Jaskier and wrapping his arm around him. He’s surprisingly cuddly, after, holding Jaskier close and nuzzling into his neck.

“Is this your room or mine?” Jaskier asks after a while, fingers playing with Geralt’s hair.

“Mine.”

“Mm,” Jaskier says. “You want me to go?”

Geralt just throws his leg over Jaskier’s to keep him from getting up. Jaskier smiles and relaxes against him, ready to sleep.

*

It happens a few more times, them stumbling into bed together whenever there is a bed for them to stumble into. It’s fun, and it’s good, and it thankfully doesn’t change much about their daily life besides the amount of casual flirting they do.

He and Geralt never talk about not sleeping with other people, which is why he’s surprised to have Geralt grab his cup a lot more forcefully than necessary and move to a table when Jaskier starts flirting with another bartender.

He goes without a word, and Jaskier watches him walk away for a moment before deciding to follow.

“Give me just a minute,” he murmurs and goes after Geralt, leaning his hip on the tabletop Geralt is currently glaring at.

“What was that about?” he asks, crossing his arms.

“What was what about?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a dick.”

Geralt looks up at him, his gaze telling Jaskier that he’s the one being a dick, and Jaskier pulls up a chair with a sigh.

“Are you going to talk about this, or am I going to have to guess what’s wrong? Or should I fuck off for another year so you can start to miss me again?”

Geralt clenches his jaw. “You shouldn’t have to guess.” He glances at something behind Jaskier, and Jaskier turns around to see the bartender looking their way, lowering his gaze when Jaskier catches him.

Jaskier turns back to Geralt with a frown. “You said it wouldn’t be weird.”

“What’s weird about this?” Geralt asks. “Am I not allowed to be offended?”

“Offended by what? Me flirting with other people when we’re not even together?” At Geralt’s raised eyebrows, he adds, “We’re just fucking.”

Geralt huffs a mirthless laugh. “Right. And I’m the dick.”

“I’m sorry, when exactly did we have a conversation about this being anything other than what it is?” Jaskier asks. “I didn’t know this meant more to you than it did to me.”

“Clearly.”

It’s just one word, but it’s so cold, so judgemental, something in Jaskier just snaps.

“Yennefer really didn’t tell you why I was sick, did she?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It happened because I loved you and you didn’t love me back.”

Geralt’s eyes widen, the hand holding his cup lowering to the table slowly. “What?” he asks quietly.

“It’s what the curse does. Makes flowers grow in your chest until the person loves you back. Or until you die.”

“But she found a way to save you.”

“She had to take my feelings for you out along with the flowers. They can’t regrow once uprooted.”

“The flowers or the feelings?”

“Both.” Jaskier takes a breath. “Don’t fucking act like I’m a bad person for not falling for you. It’s not my fault it took me nearly dying for you to realize I was worth having around.”

“It didn’t…” Geralt starts quietly, but then he shakes his head and doesn’t finish his sentence.

“What?”

“I was looking for you,” Geralt says. “I couldn’t lose you.”

He doesn’t say _I loved you_. He doesn’t have to. The mere implication of it has bile rising in Jaskier’s throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Geralt asks softly, and Jaskier can’t handle the hurt in his voice.

“Why didn’t _you?_ ” he bursts out. “You could have spared me— We could have—”

It doesn’t matter now. They can’t go back and change anything. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, pushing his chair back as he gets up a moment later.

Geralt catches him by the wrist to stall him. “Where are you going?”

“Elsewhere,” he says, “It’s a big town. There’s lots of places to get drunk.”

He pulls his hand away, and Geralt lets him go.

*

Geralt finds him a few hours later, sitting at Jaskier’s table without asking for permission. Jaskier lifts his head and looks at him through bleary eyes. Despite his best efforts, he hasn’t gotten to the fun part of drunkennes yet, still stuck in the sticky swamp of sadness. He has to blink to focus his gaze, but he’s pretty sure Geralt doesn’t look - or feel - much better than him.

“Took you long enough,” Jaskier slurs.

“I’ve been here for an hour.”

“Here?” Jaskier almost yells, startled, and Geralt moves closer to him to put a calming hand on his shoulder.

“In the tavern. Not next to you.”

“Oh. Right. Makes sense,” he says. “Were you jus’ lookin’ at me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s sad.”

“Probably.”

Jaskier brings his cup to his mouth again, but Geralt takes it from his hand, hands him another. Jaskier sniffs at it, but it doesn’t smell like anything.

“It’s water,” Geralt says. At Jaskier’s groan, he continues, “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“If you say so.”

“I wanted to talk to you, but I’m not sure you’re up to it.”

“Shouldn’t have waited an hour.”

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have waited.”

Despite appearances, Jaskier is not drunk enough to miss what he means. He sighs and props his elbow on the table, rubs his forehead.

“You shouldn’t have told me.”

“What?”

“I was better off not knowing. That we could have.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says. “Why did you tell _me_?”

“I didn’t want you to be mad. To think I was doing it on purpose,” he mumbles. “I’d love you if I could,” he says, and hates the way Geralt’s face crumples a little. “I loved you so much it almost killed me.”

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Geralt reaches for him, wiping his tears away and pulling him to his side until Jaskier is leaning on him, soaking his jacket with his tears.

“How did I not know?” Geralt asks.

“Beats me. Why did you think I stayed with you?”

“To get new material for your songs?”

“Songs about you,” Jaskier says. “You were my muse.”

Geralt’s arms tighten around him for a moment, his breath stutters.

“And what am I now?” he asks.

“Whatever you want to be,” Jaskier says. “We can go on the same way. If you’re okay with the fact that it won’t mean anything else to me, that is.”

“I think I can be okay with it.”

“Really?” Jaskier says, lifting his head to look at him. “You don’t want me to leave?”

“What? No,” Geralt reassures him, rubbing his back soothingly. “I don’t need you to be in love with me for me to appreciate your company.”

“And your… feelings?”

Geralt shrugs. “Feelings fade.”

“Even when you keep fucking the person you have feelings for?”

Geralt laughs. “I guess we’ll have to see,” he says. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. To sleep,” he says when Jaskier raises his eyebrows.

He takes the cup that stills has some ale in it and downs it, but seems to swallow wrong, choking on the liquid and sputtering.

“Now who’s drunk,” Jaskier says. “Man missed his own mouth.”

“You shut yours and get up,” Geralt says roughly, offering him a hand up.

They stagger back to their own tavern, silent except for Geralt’s occasional coughs, his throat still irritated.

Silently, they agree to still sleep next to each other, and Jaskier nestles up to Geralt, soaking in his warmth.

He wakes up before dawn by Geralt getting up, folding in on himself as he coughs. Jaskier is lucid in seconds, the sound of coughing _like that_ entirely too familiar and too worrying now that he’s fully sober. He sits up, reaching for Geralt and not daring to touch him at the same time.

“What is it?” he asks once Geralt calms, taking deep, hungry breaths.

Geralt stays silent for a moment, back still to Jaskier, his head bent.

“Nothing,” he rasps. He rubs his hand over the edge of the bed before he moves back in and lies down.

Jaskier goes to him, and Geralt wraps an arm around him as Jaskier lays his cheek on his chest. He knows he wouldn’t be able to hear if anything is wrong, but he still strains to listen to Geralt’s breaths. His eyes wander to the edge of the bed, and he wonders if he’ll find a flower petal there tomorrow morning.

He doesn’t let himself wonder if what ritual Yennefer performed on him would even work on a witcher.

He just closes his eyes and holds Geralt, and tries to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i am mordrecl on both [twitter](https://twitter.com/mordrecl) and [tumblr](http://mordrecl.tumblr.com/)


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